


Dear, dearer, dearest

by OnAStallion, wobblyheadeddollcaper



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abolition, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Happy AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild post-traumatic stress, Mutual Pining, Submission, discussion of slavery, submissive and a bit conflicted about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnAStallion/pseuds/OnAStallion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobblyheadeddollcaper/pseuds/wobblyheadeddollcaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letters written during a separation. Or, Laurens and Hamilton change each other and the course of history diverts as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with OnAStallion.

Laurens takes a breath, coughs, pulls the parchment towards him, and loads his quill with ink. It’s been less than a week, but he misses Hamilton so much his teeth ache. It had been like something out of a dream, waking up from a fevered sleep to see his Hamilton by his bedside, dark circles under his eyes and talking cheerfully about nothing in particular. A quick kiss stolen, a gift bestowed, and he was gone again. He raises his eyes to the corner of his tent where the ham sits and can’t help but smile. Thoughtful, chosen with an eye to wordplay. He likes it more than he would a hundred flowers.

=

Dear Colonel Hamilton,

Greetings from the South. I hope that the progress of your war goes more smoothly than mine, confin’d as I am to a bed of sickness. The rations here are infinitely better for your kind gift of a ham, which is both a feast for my stomach and a memento of your visit (though I do not treasure it so dearly that I will not eat it). The weather is clear and my company in good spirits, despite the cold. It’s much warmer than New York, so do not send any blankets or coats. Your need of them is far greater than mine.

My political news is much as it was in my last letter though I have worn down a couple of men into converts, and now that I have reached a fold in the page I ask you to hide the rest of this and read it when you are alone.

I have altogether too much time to think while I am ill, and I find you in my thoughts more and more. My bedlinens still carry a faint memory of your scent. I smell it when I wake up, and for a very brief moment I can delude myself that you are there.

It helps if I close my eyes. It makes my imaginings more vivid. I can almost picture you leaning over me, a bare hands-breadth away, teasing me as you are wont to do. I wonder sometimes whether it is tempting fate, when we have so little time to be alone together, to further prolong your absences from me in this way. I can hear you laugh as you tell me that to be so close is hardly an absence at all – but when your hands are not touching me, I feel the lack of them. Have you ever seen a field of sunflowers turn, eyeless, over the hours to follow the path of the sun in the sky? Probably you have not, I can’t imagine you staying still so long (though I know you have patience for some things). My skin, it seems, senses your gaze much as sunflowers do the heat of the sun.

So you hover over me, intangible Alexander, and smile to yourself. Perhaps you straddle my lap, perhaps your knees are a bare inch from my hips and any moment you will fold down onto me as a rider sits astride a horse. Or perhaps your hands support you, your face looking down at mine, and at any moment you might lower yourself to kiss me. I can wait a long time, with my eyes closed, imagining what you might be about to do, though over time the anticipation transmutes to an almost-painful fever.

And when I open my eyes – well, perhaps you are merely in the next room.

Write soon, dear boy.

Yr most affectionate Laurens.

=

The return letter comes with a huge bundled package, and Laurens is sure to thank the military equerry who had to wrestle the parcel through the disputed country between the main camp and Laurens’ southern outpost. He’s on his feet again by then, though coughing in a way his sergeant seems to find somewhat alarming.

=

My dear Laurens,

Your entreaty has gone entirely unheeded, I have sent blankets enough to smother you. Did you really expect that I could sit idly by while you waste away in this despicable fashion? Do not tell me that you are perfectly capable of managing this illness - no, I cannot endure the thought of you weak and alone, with no one to offer you comfort or nourishment. I do not expect that it makes so much difference, despite your polished words, who does the comforting or nourishing, but I confess I would much prefer that it was my hand on your fevered brow. I feel quite certain I could tend to your every need and whim much better than any other. You know how I wish to dedicate myself to a worthy cause, and what worthier cause than this?

Laurens, you liken me to the sun, which I do not deserve. In truth, I do not so much radiate as blush like a maid, in the darkness of my tent, when I read your letters. Dare I dream that you could be persuaded to repeat those pretty sentiments again when we are together? I find thoughts of you so soothing in these troubled times. Our absences are difficult to bear indeed, and yet it seems to me that it increases our passion and affection for one another. A time will come when we may spend all our days together if we wish and then perhaps you shall tire of me, dear heart. I pray that it is not so. I am so very fond of you. You talk of my eyes, and I can scarcely stop picturing yours, and the way your gaze can change from tenderness to intensity in a moment. It takes my breath away. You compare yourself to a flower, and true, you are as beautiful as any that bloom on God's green earth, and as captivating. Do not wilt, John. I could not bear it.

Washington sends his regards. He grows weary of late, and I fear the war is taking a great toll. It takes a toll on all of us, but the mighty must bear it harder. I do not remember the last time I saw him smile.

Lafayette conveyed a sentiment in French which was much too vulgar to repeat here in any tongue, and therefore I have informed him he can write his own letters to you if he insists upon saying such things. He has taken to repeating my jape - about the serving girl and the boar - among the soldiers and has thusly become a great favourite. Alas, I am doomed to this fate, that other men should rise to greatness on my behalf.

Adieu, be happy, and let friendship between us be more than a name

A.Ham


	2. Chapter 2

Some trick of the phrasing of Hamilton’s last letter gives Laurens an uneasy feeling. Hamilton sounds as though he’s saying – not goodbye, but as though he’s already looking back at Laurens as at a memory. He needs to bring Hamilton into the present tense. ‘Persuaded to repeat the sentiment’, indeed, as though Laurens had not been biting back stronger words for weeks.

=

Dear Colonel Hamilton,

You should not let Lafayette steal all the glory. Tell him from me that he has quite enough. You will have heard by now that we have taken some prisoners, and they speak of him with an awe proportionate to his abilities. You told me Washington does not smile. What about my dear Hamilton, does he find much to smile over? I hope so.

The blankets arrived, my men thank you for your generosity. I supposed from the number dispatched that you had meant them to cover a whole company. I did keep one for my own use, so you have comforted me from afar. Your letter was better comfort, though. I must tell you that if I am a flower then I am stubbornly strong-rooted and somewhat thorny about the stem, and if I am captivating it is because I ardently wish to capture your attention. Your attention is quite an intoxicating thing, Alexander. I sometimes feel a little stunned by it, as if I had sunstroke again.   
  
I am quite recovered, I promise you, save that I am somewhat distracted.   
This distraction is so advanced that it overtakes me even in briefings. As much as I try to concentrate, you intrude. Sometimes I picture you merely sitting by my side, attending to the speaker I am ignoring. Sometimes you distract me further, as you know best how to do.  
  
I wonder what you would think of everything that happens, of the people here, of my life as it is and my life as you glimpse it through our correspondence. It seems that since I rose from my bed I have a thousand small tasks to do and no sooner do I look at one but another slips away and must be recaptured. I would willingly lose a limb if it would gain me one more competent subordinate. I hope your Lieutenants Gilbert and Weland fare well.

Adieu, my dear.   
  
J. Laurens

=

Gilbert, a plump, dark-haired boy given to nervous starts, and Weland, a hulking, wild-haired, six-foot lad, had attached themselves most particularly to Hamilton’s service. If Hamilton was as bereft of family as he had hinted, it could be seen that he was not the one to have caused a rift. Even the adolescent affection of gawky young lieutenants had won from him an answering loyalty that made Laurens smile fondly. He has no such talent for winning over his subordinates, time and competence being his only sure methods of endearing himself to his men.

=

My dearest Laurens,

Such a change in tone; why, you sound quite despondent. I do not wish to burden you with greater worries than you already possess, but I am so very concerned. Your fatigue seeps out between your words, casting long shadows of unsaid things on the page. It exudes a sad resignation that I, far away as I am, feel powerless to prevent. Dear heart, if only I could slay those dragons for you. It seems that my ghostly presence only worsens this distraction, although perhaps it is  a relief from the grind of daily tasks - and if so, I cannot help but be glad of it - so I promise I will present myself to you shortly, in order that you may be comforted by flesh-and-blood. We shall embrace, dear Laurens, and I will do all I can to soothe you.

You ask if I find much to smile over, and in truth I do not. War is long and weary work. The thought of gazing upon your face again after such eternities is thrilling, but every second prior to that meeting is maddening, stretched out as it is by my longing. No words need be exchanged since illness has plagued your poor voice but I know from experience that I - privileged as I am to have a quick wit and a ready word always at my disposal - do not need verbal language to communicate with you, of all people.

Lieutenants Gilbert and Weland are well. They cause some chaos among the camp, being so boisterous in the night-time and cannot obey orders to hold their tongues. I worry that they hold small impromptu duels out of my sight, albeit unarmed, which is not proper for gentlemen of their rank. Still, they are my best soldiers here, and I have as much fondness for them as for any children I might sire.

Lafayette, upon my reciting your comments, remarked that it was not his 'abilities' your prisoners were in awe of. For once, I could not quite think what to say, since speaking of my own skills and endowments would not have been appropriate. I trust that your knowledge of them is enough to stroke my ego?

Immeasurably yours,

A. Ham


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Col. Hamilton,

Your letter is so full of concern I feel I must reassure you. My spirits are good, though I fear I often seem a melancholy fellow. It is in most respects the result of introverted habits and, in my working life, of high expectations and the inevitable disappointment that follows them. My life is as good as it can be. I work hard for a worthy cause, and such insecurities and stresses as may attend on such a pursuit at least mean that I am never bored.

You are a wonderful distraction, and a great comfort, and a sublime terror. I had quite a well-regulated mind, once upon a time, though I fear you have not seen much evidence to support my claim. There seems little I can do to mend matters except try to be worth your time and your embraces, and to comfort you in turn.

Do ask Lafayette at what point he showed eighty British soldiers his 'skills and endowments' to put them in awe of him. It must have been a more lively battle than I had suspected - I do hope he has seen a doctor since. Who knows what affliction the enemy might have given him? As for you, sir, come here again in a better season and I will engage to raise your spirits with a full and thorough recounting of my opinion of your gifts. It may take some days.

Affectnly yrs, J Laurens

 =

Hamilton has to laugh when he reads the latest letter. Laurens, regardless of an illness which Hamilton privately fears is much worse than he has been informed of, still has a rapier wit ready to skewer anyone stupid enough to walk within fighting distance. He wonders briefly whether this is how Laurens keeps others at bay. Hamilton will not be pushed to such a distance - curiosity and growing affection will not permit him to retreat. He wants to be closer. He needs to.

 =

My dear Laurens,

It seems not melancholy, but the pursuit of dreams so lofty and noble which would make any man of honour despair if he failed to reach them at every moment. You are too hard on yourself, sir. It is the smaller - but not lesser - peaks you reach, day to day, and the sweat of your brow as you toil, which makes you the respected and adored soldier that you are. I must assure you that your diligence must always be noted, even if it is not always spoken of out loud. I am certain of it. Who could fail to notice you? Not I.

You do yourself an injustice in saying that that your mind has been absent of late. I find your mind ever in attendance, and if I, on one of my many walks, find it wandering, I shall leash it and bring it home to you at once. Perhaps you feel not as well-oiled as you have been on my visits? I find a good, hard discussion to be just the thing to ease the strains of a brain and body so encumbered. If so, this is easily remedied. I must insist that you make a little time for me to work this stress out of you. Thoroughly.

Lafayette announces that he cannot abide your insinuations, and it is only the full force of his affection for you that stops him from riding to your camp and challenging you to a duel. He adds that he regrets he would not find the time at the moment, as he is busy consorting with your dear mother, who is said to be much more afflicted with love than any of the soldiers here. He thinks himself highly amusing, and I confess a certain fondness for your silly squabbles. 

Yr affectionate,

A.Ham


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Col. Hamilton,

Tell Lafayette that my sainted mother died many years ago, that necrophilia is against the laws of God and man, and that while I commend his revolutionary fervor in oversetting the more irksome laws monarchy imposes upon us, I feel the line must be drawn somewhere. My family has several horses, perhaps he would be satisfied with one of those in my mother's stead? My friendship for him is such that he may have any horse of mine for the asking. (If he does challenge me, dear Alex, I trust in you to be a good second and dissuade him).

I am abed again. In the name of God, do not send any more blankets. I have all the nostrums and prayers in the world crowded round my bedside, and your letters to comfort me. I feel very lazy to be so cossetted when there is so much work to do. 'Diligent' is not a word I would apply to myself. I fear you must have me confused with one Alexander Hamilton.

I believe that your diagnosis is correct, and I shall submit myself entirely to your course of treatment. Such surrender is most unlike me, and I beg that you will have patience with my slowness, and correct my errors firmly when they appear. Certainly, your visits seem to focus my mind wonderfully well. I am only sorry to tell you that the living situation here has become very confined, so that when you visit I fear we will have to share a bed. I venture that you will not mind, since I will strive to welcome you in as good a style as I can contrive and with all the warmth of my affection.

Yours as ever, J. Laurens

 =

Long before the letter can have arrived, Hamilton rides into camp again, dusty and cocksure, and Laurens remembers anew the fire Hamilton can strike from his soul with just a look. They share a tent that night, and Laurens takes his heart in his hands and asks, words falling wounded and halting from his lips, to be taken. Hamilton pushes into him slow and rough, tells him to talk – their tent being unusually secluded – and Laurens cannot dissemble, not when he’s flayed open like this.

“I love you,” he gasps, and Hamilton’s hands falter. Laurens looks up, worried. “I’m sorry, was that-“

Hamilton kisses him, all urgency, and Laurens’ mind clouds over again.

Hamilton is calmer on the outside, ready to reassure Laurens that being desirous of possession is not a weakness and makes him no less of a man. Inside he is a hurricane of emotion. Laurens. His Laurens. Giving himself over to Hamilton’s insatiably hungry hands and mouth. Hamilton feels the fever building in him - he has tried to stem the flow but it is no use. He might as well try to lasso the wind.

The next morning Laurens smiles at the ceiling when he awakes. Hamilton kisses him sleepily.

”Last night…” Hamilton starts, tentatively. “People say… things when they’re in the act. I’d rather place too little dependence on your words than too much, my dear.”

Laurens suppresses his first reaction, thinks it over so he can be sure that he says what he means.

“I meant it. It doesn’t require return. No-“ he stops Hamilton’s interruption. “I mean, you don’t need to say it. I already know. Take your time, I can wait till you’re sure of your footing.”

 =

My dearest, Laurens,

Lafayette underwent a serious of quite fascinating colour changes when I read him your latest response. I made sure, of course, to do it with maximum audience present. He made some perfunctory effort to mutter that it was your sister he had intended, and when I corrected him on the non-existence of said sister, he stalked out of the tent with some petulance. He has, I fear, suffered such great indignity that his amusements may never be made again with such disdain for propriety. It may curtail his ability to wit. A dreadful shame.

You must allow yourself to be called as you are, in such moments when you embody those things, and your diligence is certainly something I have observed for myself. Your ministrations are always so exacting and thorough. On your insistence, I shall not send more blankets, but instead drape myself over you in spirit, that my soul may keep you warm and safe. Slowness is not something I associate with my dear Laurens, and in fact I ask you to have a little more patience with me and my desires, in order that I may fully appreciate more what you have given me. 

For you have, John, given me yourself. You have given it before, but last night you gave me more than I thought possible and truly far more than I deserve. No, do not argue with me about my worth, for I cannot believe that a man such as yourself could see so much to love in a bastard orphan. You asked if you disgust me, and I could not imagine that you ever truly wondered, but I have in turn wondered whether I disgust you. I have never been enough, not for myself, not for others. I work ceaselessly to change that. 

Your smell hangs over me today, and lingers on my skin in a way that drives me quite wild. I should bathe, but cannot bring myself to do so yet.

Ah, now I see I was entirely wrong about Lafayette. He has just come in and asked me to ascertain exactly what sort of horses your family keeps. He says that if they are a good breed, they well might be a better ride than any of your family, alive or no. I do not know what to do with either of you, sometimes.

Yours as ever,

A.Ham

= 

How can you convince a man you love him with clear eyes? Not with words alone, Laurens fears. He blushes even to remember how wanton Hamilton had made him that night, how heady their passion had been. How open Laurens had been, fumbling his words like a green boy, graceless and grasping. But whenever he reaches out, Hamilton reaches back.


	5. Chapter 5

Dear Colonel Hamilton,

I am so glad that Lafayette's wit has not been permanently suppressed. Tell him privately that I miss him immensely, and publicly that I fear I do not possess a stallion hardy enough satisfy his appetites. Also that I have written to his charming wife with my fond regards and an enquiry as to his taste in horseflesh, so that I might better select a worthy animal for such a noble patriot.

(As for you not knowing what to do with either of us; my dear boy, I can attest from our last night alone that you know very well how to use me. I venture to hope that you do not treat Lafayette the same way, or I may have to fight him after all.)

We have often remarked together that the world is peopled with fools, and I must add to that number the villains and idiots who taught you to undervalue yourself. You are not your origins. You are your sweet self, and our future. However, you asked me not to argue, so I shall instead see if my future actions can convince you better than my words that you are enough.

I crave you as men crave tobacco, or food, or water. And I am sometimes ashamed; not of my appetites, but of my weakness. I want to stand tall and be strong for you, yet you have but to crook a finger and I am on my knees. I beg and babble and ask all manner of things from you, though you already spend your days balancing a thousand demands. After you have fulfilled me many times over, I then ask you to reassure me that you still respect me despite my demands - I impose too much on your good nature. I offer in my own defence only that I shall give you anything I think may please you, or anything you ask

You know my sentiments. They remain unaltered.

Yours, J Laurens.

=

Hamiton cannot quite believe it though. So many people say so many things, and so little of them are meant with honest intentions. He falters, quill marking the paper in a jagged line, before beginning. He cannot say too much, he cannot return the sentiment just yet. Not until he is sure Laurens is serious. He cannot bear to be the butt of a joke, or worse, to be a casual fling, taken in by the words spoken in the heat of a moment that perhaps- No. Laurens wouldn’t do that to him. Still. Hamilton hesitates. _Courage, man. He has shown you his, now show him yours._ His lips quirk in a smile.

=

My dear Laurens,

Lafayette privately sends his warmest regards, and implores me to inform you that he enjoys sparring with no man quite so much as he does you. Publicly, he has noted that your inability to provide a suitable ride reflects badly on yourself. To this he added a small private commiseration to me, which in truth I was unable to refute since I laughed too hard and long to make any sort of coherent reply. You shall not duel over me, for in my eyes there is not a person living who could hold a candle to your handsomeness, your wit, your kindness.

My John, please do not be ashamed. While I shall not do you the injustice of claiming you have no weakness, as any mortal man must, I am unutterably glad that you are partial to me in this manner. I do not think you would tell an untruth, and therefore I must believe you. I must be worthy of your regard if you say it is so. I can only hope to live up to that expectation, and do all in my power to reassure you of my loyalty, affections and respect. It is that last which seems to give you trouble. What might I say to quell those fears? Let me adore you fervently, let me love you ardently. Let it be our future. Let me be the man with whom you build a life. I shall attend to your every need and whim if only I am permitted into your precious heart.

Your appetites equal my own, although I am often shyer about expressing them. Know that you are never a burden to me. My good nature is made all the sweeter by your tender care and pretty letters. I am eager to satiate you further, in mind and body, until there is not even a breath of air between where you end and I begin. You have been my harbour in these distressing times, and when I must sail away I do it safe in the knowledge that you are awaiting my return. Your strength is a great comfort to me. We shall not speak of height.

I fear that my letters give much away, but I cannot refrain. Suffice it to say, your sentiments are cherished more dearly than anything I possess.

A. Ham

=

Laurens re-reads the letter again and again, till he fears the repeated tracks of his eyes might rub out certain words; love, future, build a life.

They meet in public once more, no time to do more than clasp hands and discuss troop movements. Laurens throws his thoughts into strategy, trying not to let his mind wander. _Love, future, build a life_.

“This line of communication is completely undefended.”

“If we use fast riders-“

“Bullets are faster. A couple of snipers, at least.” Hamilton nods and makes a note. Laurens thinks, fool that he is, that there will be enough time later to kiss away that furrow between his brows.


	6. Chapter 6

The colonel – full colonel, outranking Laurens’ mere lieutenancy – gives him his transfer orders to South Carolina as though bestowing a gift, and John fears his attempt at a grateful smile is something of a bloodless grimace. South Carolina may be his home, but it seems very far away. His letter to Hamilton sits half-written for hours, and he fears it’s too flippant, too brief; but God, better to get such ill news over with.

=

  
Dear Colonel Hamilton,

I have news. I am being sent further south, to South Carolina. We will be much further apart, no longer will you be able to visit me each week. I do not know how long this separation will last. I have two weeks to prepare before we set off - come bid me farewell if your duties permit.

The worst part of my letter is over. It makes a poor return for yours, I fear. You have given me your heart on a page, and I will treat it as tenderly as if it were my own. When your natural persuasiveness is united with your sincere affection my frail self-doubts cannot withstand you. I believe you unreservedly, and I feel the same. May it always be so between us - neither time nor distance will change my feelings.  
I leave behind my lieutenants to some other unlucky officer. I will take only a trusted few to Carolina with me. I hope that your young charges remain affectionate and have ceased their animus towards each other.

Tell Lafayette I rely on his friendship and discretion. Also that his wife sends her regards, and if one of his next children should resemble me he should consider it my attempt to gift some semblance of beauty to his family line. (Do not feel you need to defend my "honour" against his private commiserations, as I will endeavour if you visit to send you back to the main camp with an expression of such satisfaction that it will quell any poor thoughts he entertains of me.)

Yours, J Laurens

=

Hamilton’s heart cracks when he reads the letter. Too far. Too brusque. It is likely that Laurens had no more time to compose love letters and Hamilton ought to be grateful that he received anything at all, but even so. After the gentle caresses of the previous correspondence, this feels like Laurens shouldering past him out of a tent, out of his life. For the first time, Hamilton feels afraid. Needy. The reassurance is writ upon the page but it is not enough to staunch the sudden doubt.

=

My dearest Laurens,

This is a blow indeed. Of course I shall visit to bid you farewell; all the armies of the world could not stop me. You may still receive letters, I trust? Perhaps it will be more restful for you. I know you have had such a trying time with some of your officers. Raise your glass to freedom, Laurens. The revolution is upon us and we must fight for all that we hold dear. I fight for our country, for myself, and mostly importantly, for you.

My heart is laid bare on the page in every letter, and yet I retain some words yet left to gift you in person. I shall whisper them upon your skin in order to better convey my meaning and the depth of my sentiment. Neither time nor distance will change my feelings in turn. I shall write to you as much as possible, in order that my presence be felt more keenly. I meant what I said; there is no man who can hold a candle to you. I am utterly devoted.

Lts Gilbert and Weland are rambunctious as ever and I fear will remain so. Their vigour will be useful in battle, and their companionship is a gift to me on these long dark nights. I suspect that under the brotherly squabbles, they are privately very tender towards each other.

Lafayette despairs and wonders aloud why you must gift him with something he already has in great abundance. I am unsure whether he meant children or beauty, or both. He has been strutting around for a full hour now, asking soldiers to compliment his fine eyes and well-turned calves, which they clamour to do in droves. My army shall fight for love, it seems, if they do not duel themselves thin. It is so very Spartan. I think my laughter convinced him that jesting of your prowess would not result in success, so he appears to have given that up, at least for the time being.

Yours, A.Ham


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re beautiful like this,” Hamilton whispers against his ear, pinning Laurens to the bed. Laurens shudders. “So pretty.”

“Stop,” Laurens says, half-laughing to cover the way his stomach roils.

“My pretty, adorable-“

“Stop,” Laurens says, begging in earnest now. Hamilton lets him go as if he’s been scorched.

“Don’t treat me like some… girl just because you fuck me. Because I let you see me, when I’m… begging and.” Laurens swallows, ears burning. “It doesn’t make me...”

“Of course not – Laurens, I never thought it did. Not for a moment.” Hamilton touches the side of his face. “John. My handsome John. I stand in no danger of forgetting who you are, soldier, I promise you that.”

Hamilton doesn't quite understand why Laurens is so touchy about this. They have both fucked and been fucked in turn. Neither of them are weak - in fact, together they are stronger, each complementing the other, and he doesn't understand why Laurens doesn't see that. Nor why Laurens flinches from compliments as if each one were a physical blow, as if Hamilton's verbal affection feels like a hail of bullets. Hamilton has retreated, has started again, smaller, not pushing his luck, telling Laurens he's pretty, handsome, brilliant. Each word carefully delivered on separate occasions. Spaced out. He desperately wants to tell Laurens that he meant what he said in his letter, that no man can hold a candle to him. He wants to admit that Laurens in all his glory is the most beautiful fucking thing he's ever seen in his life, to whisper it fervently and not be rejected, to have Laurens turn towards him instead of away. It needs time and patience. Hamilton can wait.

 =

Dear Col. Hamilton,

My letters will still be able to reach you from South Carolina, and I will write as often as I can. Your letters are valuable already - how much more I will treasure them when I am parted from you for more than a week at a time, I can hardly envisage.

There is an old saying that war is a great deal of boredom mixed with a small measure of excitement. I am expecting to encounter both, and shall endeavor to describe them for you so that you may follow my adventures. While there I will also be visiting my family, when I can get leave to do so.

The legend of the Theban Band has been in my mind. Do you know it? A regiment of lovers, pairs of men who fought their battles side by side and never retreated, because to be a coward in the eyes of your lover was worse than death. They were pagans, of course - but I can understand their need to be worthy in a lover's eyes. You and I are not the kind to think the wider world well lost for love. Instead we shall rebuild the world for love, leaving it in better straits than when we arrived in it.  
  
Perhaps Lafayette is trying to raise such a band of lover-soldiers as the Thebans established, though he proceeds in a very profligate fashion. Recommend to him the studies of the ancient Greeks, and the liberal use of oil. Even the hardy Spartans did not disdain olive oil.

Yours ever, J. Laurens

 =

Laurens is tentatively, warily, devising a plan for after the war. If they are going to build a future together, better to build on rock than sand. They will need reputation, money, a place to stand. A place to stand together. Laurens has to make a name for himself, and success in war is the surest road. He has always been quietly ambitious, but now he thinks of what his achievements might win him – enough security to carve out a space at his side for Hamilton, a space at Hamilton’s side for him, and no man given authority to order them to part.

=

My dearest Laurens,

If my letters are as valuable as you say, then they must surely become priceless upon your departure. I will therefore weigh every word as carefully as if it was a kiss stolen from your lips. I say stolen, but you give those so willingly. I am at a loss today, after our time together yesterday, to fully convey my feelings and yet I do not have to. You have seen it writ large upon my face. Burr once told me to talk less and smile more. I find this so difficult to put into practice around you. 

I am well aware of the Theban Band; I have often thought of you in this way while I waited in the trenches. How much easier it would be to face death if you were by my side. They call me the little lion, and yet I am never as fierce as I would be if my dearest companion fought with me. How much larger my courage would be, if I had you to protect? Do not mistake me, for your own bravery and skill exceeds mine own, and I would not have you think that I consider you a maiden in need of such protection. No, not at all. I merely yearn to protect you as my lover, as my equal, as I fight to defend my own flesh. Perhaps the brutality of war might give way to a certain savage joy, as we slew our way across the battlefield together. Alexander and Hephaestion, Achilles and Patroclus, Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.

Ah well. The lateness of the hour has no doubt affected my imaginings. You are far from me, and must be so for some time. My frustration must be channelled into other tasks, and I shall let my longing dawdle only for a moment, so that I may not feel the loss so keenly.

I have, on your request, recommended some books on the subject to Lafayette. He has not come out of his tent for a full two hours and insisted, on my visit to ascertain whether he was ill, in a voice that rasped rather unlike his usual, that he was perfectly fine. I think it most commendable that he has the time to educate himself in this way. Several visitors before me have come away looking slightly dazed but pleased, no doubt overcome with a deluge of historical information and the hunger for more that such tales must have upon the soul of even the most battle-weary soldier. You know how I delight in the pursuit of knowledge. I can only support this new venture. It may well help our next mission in some way. 

Yours as ever,

A.Ham


	8. Chapter 8

Dear Col. Hamilton,  
  
Burr is (as is his habit) at least partially wrong. I would like to you to have reason to smile more, but you should certainly never talk less, or write less. You need not hoard up your words around me. When they come from your teeming brain so freely, how cruel would you be to deny them to someone so much in want of them as your obedient servant?  
  
You put me in illustrious company, my dear boy. Since you have chosen to link your name with mine, I will strive not to dishonour it. May I always fight as if your eyes were upon me.  
  
I never learned to desire the company of others before I went to Europe and began my studies, and like a fool I was proud of it, making a virtue of base necessity. You make me forget how to want to be solitary. I too do not wish to dwell on our future separation. I am in hopes that I can see you at least once more before the long journey south - but that will be as God and our high command allows it, so I fight against hope, lest it betray me.

Certainly you should support Lafayette in his theoretical explorations. In the realm of practical study, I am sure he can safely be left to his own devices. One only hopes that he does not present his findings to General Washington too precipitately. These books that you mention; do you have any recommendations for me? Never let it be said that I failed to improve myself when guidance was given, or missed an opportunity to expand my capacity.

Yours as ever, J. Laurens

=

My dearest Laurens,

Far be it from me to deny you a single thing. If it is words you wish, then you shall have all of mine - until you tell me to hush. Let me whisper them to you in the darkness, let me murmur them to you in the morning sunshine, let me bury my face in your shoulder and press my words and affections tight against you. My brain is full of them, and full of you, my sweet fellow. It has been so for some time now. I do not see this abating. You arouse a great passion in me that cannot be satisfied.

I know you preferred a solitary life before we met. I did not think a bastard orphan had any place in your world. I confessed a part of me despaired that I could ever find my way into your heart. I am afraid to wake up and find that you have been naught but a dream. If you would but permit me to stay quietly at your side, I would be unutterably happy. Go about your life as you please; nothing need change to suit me. I merely wish to be a presence in the background, a supportive and steadying anchor against the ever changing currents of Fate. As long as you come home at the end of the day, that would be enough. More than enough. 

I shall see you briefly before you must depart. The memories of your kisses and pretty sentiments ought to sustain us for some time. I take endless pride in my place at your side, and cannot praise you enough.  

I shall not recommend any books to you, for my John needs no guidance in this particular field of study. If you continue to insist, then I shall do the instructing myself, with a firm but gentle hand. Your capacity for learning is vast and has already encompassed most of what I have given you. We shall have to see if you can be taught to take anything further. I do not wish to overstretch you, but I am most curious as to where your intellectual boundaries lie.

Ever yours,

A.Ham


	9. Chapter 9

Dear Col. Hamilton,

That you of all people offer to stay quietly at my side, in the background of my life, is more than enough proof of your devotion. I would never ask it of you, as it is quite contrary to my desires. Stay with me, please, but never force yourself to be quiet, as I am happiest to hear you speak; you are no background character in my life, you are not some figure in a chorus.  
  
We seem to have known each other an age, though the calendar tells me it is a time measured in weeks not seasons. I hope that the weeks that pass during our separation will not seem so long, but only for our comfort, as I do not believe time or distance will erode our attachment.

My intellectual boundaries are remarkably elastic when it comes to you. I await in pleased expectation the privacy to explore such matters with you more completely. (To see you in public is a curious delight, bound as we are by convention from indulging in our new-yet-accustomed intimacies. I know I am headstrong and fall headlong into dangerous degrees of closeness, and only my few wits imperfectly restrain me. But my dear, to speak with you, though any number of impediments hamper our discourse, is enough that I count it a joy all on its own.)

Yours ever, J. Laurens

 =

“You’re going tomorrow,” Hamilton says, looking at Laurens's bare tent, all its usual detritus packed away into two neat saddlebags and a pack.

“Let’s not think about it tonight," Laurens says, with a clumsy attempt at levity. "Come take my mind off it.” He takes Hamilton's hand, kisses his fingertips.

“I’m not some palliative you can reach for whenever you need a distraction,” Hamilton says, jerking his hand away.

Laurens looks as if he’s bitten an apple and found it unexpectedly bitter - shocked, embarrassed, confused.

“That’s not-“

“I want you to tell me - things,” Hamilton says, then flinches a little. Laurens doesn’t see it.

“What do you want to know?” Laurens says angrily. “Yes, I’m annoyed to be sent off with so little warning, yes, I’m going to miss you terribly. Yes, I’m scared. Doesn’t change anything. I still have to go, so.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hamilton glances up at him, then averts his eyes.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he says, words carefully even.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Laurens says, his voice going soft, pleading. “Just for tonight.”

“All right.” Hamilton says, sounding defeated. “Yes, come here.”

The night is not a success. Hamilton is edgy, Laurens nervous and grasping for solace; too hard, too quick. When Hamilton rides away the next morning Laurens feels like a man posted to guard the battlefield after a defeat. Their time together has given him this much knowledge to comfort him: one bad night is nowhere near enough to shatter their bond. He draws strength from the letters hidden in his pack, marked for burning in the event of his death.

=

Dear Ham - Arrived in SC, went straight into daylong skirmish. Survived unscathed, have caused much bloodshed. Billet comfortable but dim. Longer letter to follow. Yours ever, JL

=

My dearest Laurens,

I am glad that you see this as proof of my devotion; in truth I often feel as if I cannot prove it enough. It delights me to hear you say that I am no background character to you. A chorus unto myself, perhaps, especially when a flask has been introduced into the camp - but it is good to know that I am important to you. More important perhaps than I have let myself believe until now. 

You know that I have been wounded before, and thus am more suspicious of your good intents and affections than I have any right to be. I treat you most unfairly in this regard. You have always been an honest and loyal friend to me. It is so hard to believe that a person who embodies all those qualities that I myself desire to possess, should care for me so deeply. I see myself as such a broken, fractured thing. Not worthless, exactly, but certainly there are others in the world who surpass me for beauty and grace, if not brains. You ought to have your pick of anyone, dear heart. I may never understand why you have chosen me. I will always be grateful, but I may never quite understand it.

I have just received your latest letter while writing this response; my sweet fellow, you best be unhurt as promised, or I shall have sharp words for you. The billet may be dim but I know my Laurens brightens any dwelling to blinding proportions. 

Yours,

A. Ham


	10. Chapter 10

Laurens scrubs at the reddened dirt under his fingernails with a numb persistence, too tired to feel any particular need to be clean. He has resolved to wash his hands before opening the letters come from the North, and so he will wash, stubbornness taking the place of desire. His linens are nearly beyond repair, stiff with sweat where they are not blotched with browning bloodstains. There’s no point changing clothes when he cannot even clean the filth off his body before sleeping, but at least he can have clean hands to touch what little of Hamilton he has still with him.

=

Dearest Alex,

I am so weary I can barely hold a pen. My clothes are foul with sweat and noisome effluvia but as tomorrow will be much the same as today it is not worth seeking out fresh linens. I have gone through disgust and past it, into a bestial acceptance of my tasks.

I dreamed of you last night. I was beset, and you came to me. I reached out a hand to you and my problems fell away. I miss you, but you comfort me even from afar.

I know you've been hurt by others before we met. Guard yourself as you will - I take no offence, for how can you yet know me well enough to trust me? For all their power, mere words cannot be relied upon. Let my actions be my evidence (though they are at present somewhat pitiful and mixed bag; time and your patience alone will allow me to amend my errors) and take all the time you need to adjudicate my case.

Tell Lafayette I have spent part of my day (negotiating for provisions – we are badly supplied here) surrounded by the inhuman shrieking of stuck pigs, and the sound reminded me of his singing, though the pigs are more tuneful and keep better time. Also say that he should remember me to his wife, for their ordure is much like the perfume she wears to bed.

Yours, JL

=

My dearest Laurens,

I normally encourage your bestial acceptance, but in this case I feel only sympathetic sorrow. I wish I were there to mop your brow. I am assured that your dreadful experience has now passed, and you are free of the wretched task. How often must the world force you to experience such things? It is more than any man ought to endure.

My dream-self shall take your hand and comfort you as best I can, at those moments in quiet slumber, when your busy mind is finally at rest. I shall watch over you in the darkest hours. God knows I do not sleep much as it is, but at least I should make myself useful by guarding you in such a way. There is something quite tender about the idea. It pleases me.

A mixed-bag indeed; you have not had nearly time enough to examine all my faults and still find me acceptable, and I am but quarter-open to you yet, like a door left ajar into a private chamber. Softly, Laurens, softly along that hallway; no heavy tread here to startle me. Approach cautiously, as the dim candlelight spills out to light your path, and watch me go about my business in private. Writing. Dressing. Sleeping. Creating. You must treat me as an untamed animal, allow me to become used to your scent and routines. Learn whether I should suit you as a companion, whether you can tolerate my habits in turn. I should bridle at the thought of being treated like some delicate creature by any other, should grow angry at the mere suggestion that I need handling with care, but in fact with you, it may be so. Time will tell, dear heart.

Lafayette clutched his heart and considered himself much aggrieved at your insinuations. I do not thank you in the slightest, for he immediately launched into a rendition of several military songs which although proving your point, were a truly harsh punishment to all those in the nearby vicinity. Most ran, but some injured could not hobble fast enough, and so were forced to endure, moaning and gnashing upon the ground. Truly Lafayette murders music as well as he murders enemy troops. Perhaps better. If worst comes to worst, and the French do not send extra troops and provisions as promised, we shall at least have a secondary plan to torture the British.

Yours,

A. Ham


	11. Chapter 11

Dear Col. Hamilton,  
  
My disgust, seen in daylight and with (blessed, wonderful) clean clothes on my back, is a poor response to the suffering of fellow creatures. All I achieve in this war has its roots in such wretched work. If you find you cannot bear me with blood on my hands, tell me so before I become too reliant on your presence, because I am bloodied to my wrists and my post is not likely to change.

Endurance is something I was formed for. A few days, a little conversation, a few more dreams of you, and I shall be entirely as I was. Sleep is a great restorative, and it worries me that sleep does not come to you easily. I pray you find it soon.

I am clumsy, especially when nervous, and will endeavour not to touch precious objects (or subjects) till I am sure of my hands. If you are delicate it is in the way of one recovering from a long illness. I shall borrow your words from an earlier letter, and tell you that you must rest properly and save your strength. I am not at your chamber door to demand your attention, merely to be near you.

I have a great urge to find a set of bagpipes, so that I might dispatch them to dear Lafayette. The Scottish regiments are said to use pipe-music as a weapon of intimidation; I am sure with some little practice he could imitate them, given that his voice alone has given him ample practice in the offensive uses of music. Is his tent still neighbour to yours?

Yours affectionately, J. Laurens

 =

Dearest Laurens,

I entreat you to consider how you can possibly state that you are my affectionate Laurens in the same breath that you suggest sending bagpipes. Good lord, man. Do you truly wish me to suffer that agony? You know my feelings on the pipes at the best of times - I have often written of how I find them to occupy the exact niche between music and noise - and giving Lafayette an extra weapon with which to torture anyone within earshot seems unutterably cruel. I scarcely knew you were capable of such horror.

I bear you with blood on your hands, as I have on mine. Some days it feels as though it seeps into my soul, such do I feel the weight of the world upon me. You are correct in surmising that my heart is recovering from a long illness; I often feel weary and dispirited. A change of air in the new year may yet bring fresh vitality and hope to me. I shall smile upon you soon, dear Laurens, and it shall renew me somewhat.

Yours ever,

A.Ham


	12. Chapter 12

Dear Col. Hamilton,

Rest easy, my dear boy: no bag-pipes will be sent to the Marquis by my contrivance while I yet draw breath. I may put it in my will that Lafayette should in my memory purchase bag-pipes in the event of my passing over, so that if my war goes ill you may have reason to damn my name, and miss me less.

I have a shameful secret to confide in you. I have begun reading novels of romance, suitable for _la jeune femme_. I would say you now have it in your power to destroy my reputation, but that has been true for some time now. They provide a respite: a world where no one suffers except in the pleasurable pangs of love uncertainly returned, villains are easily distinguished and dispatched, and all illness is picturesque and easily recovered from. Pray do not laugh too loudly. I promise you I stand in little danger of mistaking them for reality.

Have I mentioned to you lately how I long for Liberty? I dream of it at night, and during the day. At times it becomes so palpable an imagining I can almost grasp it. Liberty is of course some indeterminate way off, and will take some pains to win. Even a sight of it would, however, sustain me for many months, for to know it exists in the world is almost as wonderful as to possess it myself. Even the sound of it could make me happy for days. Send me word of Liberty's struggles and triumphs, since you are the most liberal man I know. Almost a libertine, save that your affections are to my humble knowledge the most continent among the continental army.

Yours, J. Laurens.

 =

My dear Laurens,

Even the torturous noise of bag-pipes could not dull the pain of losing you. I utterly forbid any injury, especially mortal wounds, and charge you with the knowledge that if you should perish, I will blaze a path into Hell the likes of which have never been seen. How dare you use flippancy when talking of such things? I've half a mind to come to the hell that is South Carolina and drag you back here by the hair for a sound spanking, for such childish insolence and careless handling of my delicate heart.

Romance is no shameful secret; there is a passion in us all which begs to be unleashed. I shall not tease you of your new hobby, except to ask whether you have discovered any new ways to woo? You have always been more forthright than I. Coyness may suit you, now that I think on it, if it be but occasionally used. A lingering look can often send much more signal than an outright flirtation. I confess that I am not always very good at recognising such signs but I am confident that should I prove slow to understand, you shall assist me by other means.

Ah, I too dream of Liberty. It is an ache for something which cannot be had for love nor money at the present time. This shall not stop us dreaming, for dreams are the foundations of the future and must be thoroughly considered and researched before one commits to action. I sense you are mocking me, John, with your comments on my own continence. I admit I have moments of impulsivity, but I am not going to miss my shot when it comes, and if that requires some waiting then by god, Alexander Hamilton shall be the most patient man in the world. You underestimate my tenacity, good sir.

Ever yours,

A.Ham


	13. Chapter 13

Dear Col. Hamilton,

No mockery of your continence was intended, my dear sir. You are remarkably abstemious in your pleasures when such abstention is in service of your duties or your plans, especially so since your passions are demonstrably strong. Your affections I had thought to be singular in their focus, the very model of constancy (though here a breath of fear touches me, and I dismiss it by re-reading your letter). And you are more persistent than a bulldog in your tenacity, as anyone who has had even the breath of a disagreement with you will confirm (I say this in all affection, your enemies being mine).

You intend to instruct me in flirtation? I would venture that such a lesson is not best conducted in text, especially not when you remain delicate. Though we are very free in our letters, I must also confess that there remains in me some lingering apprehension of eyes over my shoulder. Forthrightness is my nature and I find it more than usually difficult to dissimulate with you.

You seem fixated on pulling me Northwards by my hair. Is it that it provides such a useful handle to guide my head? Or because to have your hand in my hair, you standing, leaves me kneeling on the floor at your feet? I could resent your imperious tone, except that I know what it conceals (and that- well, you know the rest). Were you anyone but yourself I should have strong words for you, shortly followed by a meeting at dawn. My careless words I will apologise for, however. And I will gladly submit to whatever retribution you see fit after I return safely.

In order to settle your mind, know that I am ensconced in the bosom of my family, and far safer than you. Take care of your own skin, for I have taken a liking to it and to its contents.

Yours ever, J. Laurens

=

He receives no letter in reply for many weeks. At first he waits in patience, then, for two days, in sullen anger at imagined rejection. There are pretty ladies in the north with none of his myriad complications to hold back Hamilton's ambitions, and if he were a better man he should be happy for his friend. On the third day he wakes, clearheaded, to what stupid folly this is, and writes again with news of the South Carolina representatives and their venal opposition to the black regiment. His father’s house is a battleground of ideas; which keeps dinners lively, and John from getting too comfortable. No reply. He cuts short his visit home and returns to camp, where his commander has a long face and no dispatches.

The supply lines north are cut, and Laurens sees every letter he writes come bouncing back to him from the harried courier. He proposes a plan to clear the route, and is denied. Henry Laurens is a power in the south, and General Greene doesn’t want John injured, tells him to come up with a less risky scheme. Laurens salutes with as much respect as he can manage, but he could scream like a fishwife with vexation. It’s not just the desire – the need – for a link to Hamilton that drives him. They are cut off from the rest of the army, from their commander-in-chief, and standing orders to ‘attack the British forces’ are not enough to go on for long.

 _What man hath done, man may undo_ , he tells himself firmly. He’ll find a way.

He thinks in circles as he falls asleep. Hamilton might be far off, but they had promised, or not promised, exactly, but he’d vowed his love, and Hamilton had done the same, and a few months apart would not change anything. Sometimes he gets dejected, but he can wait if he has to. He’s formed for endurance. What are a few months? He reminds himself sternly that despair is a sin, even in the complicated and much-patched theology he holds to where loving Alexander is not a sin. Distraction is what he prescribes himself on waking gritty-eyed the next morning, and he sets again to reading through reports of the disposition of the British, looking for some way to break the blockade.


	14. Chapter 14

Hamilton reads the letter over repeatedly. Unfolds it, and folds it up again, until the deep creases in the paper threaten to become tears. There’s nothing wrong with it, per se - in fact at first glance it appears reasonably jovial. Hamilton is not fooled. Laurens speaks of insecurity, and of being reassured by a re-read, and yet… Hamilton wonders what he has done, what he has said, to provoke that initial worry. It gnaws at him relentlessly. He has always been faithful to Laurens, has never even considered taking another lover. The gnawing fans a small, bright spark of irritation inside him. It almost feels like an accusation. Hamilton has had to learn how to be a gentleman as well as a soldier, has not had the societal benefits that Laurens grew up with. Does Laurens consider him lacking in some way? Uncouth? Graceless? Feral?

Things are made worse by the casual reference to his family. Laurens does not get along with his father, and no doubt the old man will soon be pushing for his son to accept certain ancestral responsibilities. Hamilton cannot bear the thought of it. He jots a quick note to Laurens, and throws himself at his workload like a hungry man at a feast. When no response arrives, he pretends not to care. When an invitation to the Winter’s Ball arrives, he accepts with a certain amount of self-righteous justification.

=

Laurens can’t even remember what the fight had been about when they started, but by now he’s about ready to punch Hardcastle in the nose. Wrestling a junior officer is certainly not how he wanted to be found by the general.

“Stand down!” General Greene stares him in the eye. “By God, you had best explain yourself.”

He tamps down the intemperate response that springs to his lips. Patience. Laurens has been patient for months now, has learned from his relationship with Hamilton to hold back his reflexive anger, to give without demanding return.

“I apologise for my behaviour, sir. A disagreement over a…”

“-Sporting matter,” Hardcastle says quickly. He sticks out his hand, and Laurens shakes it, trying to look appropriately sporting.

“God-damned hotheads everywhere,” Greene grumbles. “Well, despite that, you have your wish, young man. Come to my tent for your orders.”

The general unrolls a map on his camp table and traces the supply route to the northern camp with one thick finger, pausing to tap the position of the British lines.

“You have command of the supply train north. Station your men as you will. Captain Browne would make a good second in command, either in the van or in the chain itself.”

Laurens hesitates, thinking it through. The supply chain will be slow, unglamorous work, the vanguard will be quick and full of action. He pictures himself riding into camp dusty and bloodied, looking every inch the soldier, and Hamilton's admiring gaze.

But Washington needs the supplies. He's been thinking over Hamilton's letters, and what he's learned from them. His natural recklessness becomes nobility when bent to the service of something greater - a country, a lover – but is to be deplored when he risks his skin merely for his own gratification. Battle-glory is all very romantic, but for them to have a future, Laurens needs to learn to be cautious. To build. To hold men together, to be responsible for others as well as himself. And Browne is, he recollects, some relative of Greene’s.

Browne leads the van, bursting with pride, and so it's Browne who is captured and sent as a prisoner to be confined to Philadelphia, and Laurens who grapples the supplies through to the northern camp by the skin of his teeth. Hamilton is not there to meet him.


	15. Chapter 15

Laurens rides into camp heartsore and weary shortly before sundown, reports his arrival, and goes to get their supplies signed over to the quartermaster. A couple of ensigns come out to meet them – Weland has grown ever taller and hairier, Gilbert no less spotty – but Hamilton isn’t there.

He’s probably busy, Laurens reasons, and there’s no reason for him to have heard yet about the supplies from the south, or to think that Laurens has returned. He deposits his belongings and bedroll in his old tent - Hamilton’s things are still there, along with Tilghman’s and a new set of bags he doesn’t recognize.

Lafayette is in the command tent, and gives him a full French embrace, kissing him on each cheek. One of his arms is in a sling. The only other present is Tench Tilghman, coughing vilely. Laurens waves him to sit down. Hamilton is almost never away from command, save for injury or some urgent mission for Washington (Laurens has deduced that they are to do with intelligence, but has resolved never to ask, since to be rebuffed would something of a sting to his pride).

“Are you all well?” He wants to ask more directly, but Tench is still here.

“Yes, all are well. Better for your return, I think. Have you been to your billet yet? Are you in your old place?”

“I believe so, no doubt Hamilton and the others will be sorry to lose the extra space.”

“They will be glad to see you back,” Lafayette says, squeezing Laurens’ shoulder with a significant look. “Washington, Hamilton and all the others who are well enough are gone to General Schuyler’s for the ball, but they will return tonight.”

“A … ball?” It feels like tripping on nothing, a sudden twist in the world. Hamilton is fine, and apparently having a great deal of fun without him. Which is good, of course. He wouldn’t want Hamilton to pine for him, or anything of that nature.

“Lucky dogs,” Tench says. “Three lovely Schuyler daughters and all the ladies in town – I shouldn’t be so sure about them all returning tonight, Lafayette.”

Laurens makes some jest in answer, he scarcely knows what.

“You should go,” Tench says. “Remember me to the ladies – though you’ve had a long ride,” he adds, looking at Laurens’s dusty coat and dulled leather boots, “and the General’s is an hour’s ride off.”

“I’ll think on it. It’s only, what, seven? I’ll be there in time for the dancing, if I wash and change now. Do excuse me, gentlemen.”

Lafayette follows him to his tent anyway.

“He did not know you would be returning, mon cher, or he would be here.”

“Returning today or returning at all?” Laurens says, a little strained. He’s all keyed up for a reunion, he lost poor Browne on the road, and he feels stretched almost to breaking point, like jeweller’s wire over a flame. “He needs no excuses to me, Lafayette, from you or anyone, should he find another... diversion, in my absence.”

“You are being a fool, Laurens,” Lafayette says quietly. “You have had a long day, you are tired. Do not add another ride and strong drink to it, you will catch Tench’s malady.”

“I want to see him,” Laurens says, and some of all the longing he’s been damming up must leak out into his voice, because Lafayette merely sighs, and helps him find a horse and directions.

The dancing is well begun by the time he arrives, and thank Heaven he’d changed into a clean uniform, because the major-domo of the house lets him in with only a few words. He takes a drink – he’s missed dinner, he realises, and can’t quite care - and wanders into the ballroom, taking care to stick to the walls and not interrupt the dancers. It’s almost like a dream, the lights and coloured dresses bobbing about like iridescent bubbles in a stream.

He hears Hamilton before he sees him, a sharp bark of laughter that means he’s truly amused. The lady he’s talking to certainly seems to hold his attention, her dark hair and pale-green dress less attractive than her intelligent countenance. Hamilton raises an eyebrow at her and says something, smiling a charming smile. Laurens approaches, feeling a little unsteady, and as he stumbles and rights himself the ungainly movement must have caught Hamilton's attention. When he looks again Hamilton’s staring straight at him, his ready smile is gone, and he looks… worried. Laurens feels his heart sink, and he would retreat but that the lady has noticed Hamilton’s gaze, and is looking at him enquiringly.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Laurens says, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Do introduce me, if you would be so good?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Colonel Hamilton,” Laurens says, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Do introduce me, if you would be so good?”

“Lau- Colonel Laurens, you’ve returned. I-” Hamilton breaks off. His smile looks forced. “It’s good to see you, sir. May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Schuyler? Miss Eliza, Colonel John Laurens.”

“A pleasure,” Laurens says. “Pray excuse me, miss, I fear I have had a long ride and no supper and am not such, such witty company as my friend.” He looks about for a table to put his glass. He feels suddenly that he should not be here, getting in Hamilton’s way.

“It seems to me you need a meal,” Hamilton says, and takes his elbow in a strong grip. “Miss Eliza, if you would save me a dance for later I should be most humbly indebted to you, farewell.”

“The kitchens are that way,” she says smiling, and Laurens has to admit, bitterly, that she is rather pretty.

Hamilton cadges some bread and cold cuts from the kitchen and stands over Laurens in the library to be sure he eats it. Laurens collapses into a chair heavily.

“What’s happened? You look like death warmed over, are you hurt? Is there ill news?”

“No.” Laurens picks dejectedly at the bread. “The supply line from the south got through. I lost a few good men getting past the Brid- the British patrols.” He’ll have to write to General Greene about poor Browne, he thinks, though the fog of alcohol dulls the unpleasantness of the prospect.

“You’ve not been taking good care of yourself,” Hamilton says, looking him over. “If this is what happens when I let you go south, I’ll have to keep you up here where I can force the occasional meal down your throat.”

“You should go back to Miss Eliza,” Laurens says coldly.

“That’s what you want to say to me after months without even a letter?”

Laurens says nothing, glares up at him for a long moment. Hamilton frowns.

"You're drunk."

"I am."

"Laurens-"

"'Miss Eliza, if you would save me a dance for later'...", Laurens mimics, cruelly. "She'll be waiting. Shouldn't... shouldn't keep young women waiting. Or don't you know that. _Alexander_."

Hamilton stares at him. Red is spreading, flushing, across his cheeks - although in embarrassment or anger, Laurens can't tell. "What in hell is wrong with you?"

“The supply lines were down,” Laurens says bitterly. “You don't send any letters. I travel for days, worried sick, only to find you're here. Here. At a goddamn ball. Mingling." He sneers on the last word, can't help it. "Anyway, Eliza seems nice, and it’s not as if I didn’t expect you to find someone more suitable than me.” 

“More suitable than you?" Hamilton is definitely angry now. "More suitable to what, my station in life?”

“We have equal rank,” Laurens says, speaking with inebriated concentration.

“Don’t evade the question,” Hamilton snaps. “You were born with all the advantages of family and money, and I had to fight my way up.”

“Which is why making a good marriage is important for you, I know.”

Hamilton gapes at him. “You think that my birth makes me any less loyal?"

"I - no, I know that you-"

"What then? Less faithful?”

“That's, no, that's not what I-"

“Why did you come here, sir?” Hamilton hisses. His tone is ice, his stance rigid. “If you thought I’d found another, you’re arrogant enough to drop me without a word.”

“I needed to see you,” Laurens says miserably. The words start tumbling out of him. “It’s been months, and I wanted you every day, and I came back and you were smiling at someone else. At her." Tears prick his eyes, and he stares at the bread to hide it. "You never wrote."

"I did write." Hamilton pulls out a chair, sits beside him.

"I missed your smile. And your words. I thought you'd forgotten me.”

"You're drunk and exhausted, so I'll make you some allowances," Hamilton says, his voice warmed considerably, "but how could you possibly think I would court another? Dear fellow-"

"Because... because. God, I am drunk, aren't I? Because you deserve good things." He moves to stroke Hamilton’s cheek, but misjudges his distance, and it ends up as more of a pat. "I have a plan," Laurens confides, feeling reckless. "Had a plan, anyway. Going t’get all the honour, be a gen’ral. You can take the politics. Build… something."

There's a sharp indrawn breath from Hamilton. "You-" Silence. Long seconds of silence. "I didn't know."

Laurens feels like a fool. "I'm sorry. I should go."

"I'm taking you back to camp. Don't argue with me, you're in no state for it and I'll win anyway." Hamilton looks around, curses under his breath, and presses a quick kiss to Laurens lips. "More of this later, dear boy. Come, let's make our excuses and get you home."

“You don’t want your dance?”

“Unless you’re offering, no.”

=

 “Lau- Colonel Laurens, you’ve returned. I-” Hamilton tries and fails to repress a smile. He's alive, thank god, he's alive. “It’s good to see you, sir. May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Schuyler? Miss Eliza, Colonel John Laurens.”

“A pleasure,” Laurens says abruptly. “Pray excuse me, miss, I fear I have had a long ride and no supper and am not such, such witty company as my friend.” He's curt, tired eyes raking across the room. It isn't like Laurens to be less than charming, even when exhausted. Hamilton suddenly fears the worst, but it would be improper to ask Laurens to divulge military information in front of civilians.

“It seems to me you need a meal,” Hamilton says. He cannot just up and leave in the middle of a conversation. He hesitates for a moment, thinking of the best way to bow out gracefully. “Miss Eliza, if you would save me a dance for later I should be most humbly indebted to you, farewell.”

“The kitchens are that way,” Eliza smiles in tacit understanding. _Such a pleasant young lady_. Hamilton nods his farewell and steers Laurens through the crowds.

Hamilton cadges some bread and cold cuts from the kitchen and stands over Laurens in the library to be sure he eats it. He watches Laurens collapse into a chair, almost missing his seat. Perhaps he's injured. The thought makes Hamilton's chest tight with panic.

“What’s happened? You look like death warmed over, are you hurt? Is there ill news?”

“No. The supply line from the south got through. I lost a few good men getting past the Brid- the British patrols.”

“You’ve not been taking good care of yourself,” Hamilton says. “If this is what happens when I let you go south, I’ll have to keep you up here where I can force the occasional meal down your throat.” _I have more things to force down your throat if you're up to it, my dear heart._

“You should go back to Miss Eliza,” Laurens says. It comes out harshly, catching Hamilton unawares, crushing his delight underfoot. He stares at Laurens, uncomprehendingly.

“That’s what you want to say to me after months without even a letter?”

Laurens says nothing, glares up at him for a long moment. He sways slightly in his chair.

"You're drunk."

"I am.”

"Laurens-"

"'Miss Eliza, if you would save me a dance for later'...", Laurens impersonates Hamilton, getting the inflections just right. "She'll be waiting. Shouldn't... shouldn't keep young women waiting. Or don't you know that. _Alexander_."

Hamilton feels the hurt lance through him, sharp as a sting. "What in hell is wrong with you?"

“The supply lines were down,” Laurens barks. "You don't send any letters. I travel for days, worried sick, only to find you're here. Here. At a goddamn ball. Mingling." He sneers on the last word, can't help it. "Anyway, Eliza seems nice, and it’s not as if I didn’t expect you to find someone more suitable than me.

“More suitable than you?" Hamilton is so furious, he can hardly see straight. "More suitable to what, my station in life?” It's as if everything he worried about has been proven true. Laurens does think him of low birth. A mongrel, not a gentleman. Unable to distinguish what is right and proper.

“We have equal rank,” Laurens says. He is truly drunk, Hamilton can see that, but drunkards tend to speak more truth.

“Don’t evade the question,” Hamilton snaps. “You were born with all the advantages of family and money, and I had to fight my way up.”

“Which is why making a good marriage is important for you, I know.” Laurens waves a piece of bread at Hamilton as if they were talking normally, talking about supplies or Lafayette's latest escapade, as if he had not just taken Hamilton's most private and tender weakness and used it to form a weapon.

Hamilton gapes at him. “You think that my birth makes me any less loyal?" No matter how he has tried, has strived to be better than his origins, it has not made a difference. Hamilton can hardly breathe. It would have hurt less had Laurens simply shot him.

"I - no, I know that you-"

"What then? Less faithful?”

“That's, no, that's not what I-"

“Why did you come here, sir?” Hamilton whispers. He pulls himself up to his fullest height, determined to meet these accusations with all possibly dignity. “If you thought I’d found another, you’re arrogant enough to drop me without a word.”

“I needed to see you,” Laurens says, and Hamilton looks at him, really looks, for the first time. “It’s been months, and I wanted you every day, and I came back and you were smiling at someone else. At her. You never wrote."

"I did write." Hamilton feels the anger drain from him as he regards the miserable, beaten form of the man he loves. _Oh, Laurens. My jealous Laurens._ He pulls out a chair and sits.

 "I missed your smile. And your words. I thought you'd forgotten me.”

"You're drunk and exhausted, so I'll make you some allowances," Hamilton says, feeling more relieved by the second, "but how could you possibly think I would court another? Dear fellow-"

"Because... because. God, I am drunk, aren't I? Because you deserve good things." Laurens moves to touch Hamilton’s cheek, but pats him rather harder than intended. "I have a plan," Laurens whispers. "Had a plan, anyway. Going t’get all the honour, be a gen’ral. You can take the politics. Build… something."

Hamilton sucks his breath inwards. Has to adjust his brain - from thinking Laurens wanted to leave him, to Laurens planning to create a life with him. "You-" He doesn't know what to say. He opens and closes his mouth several times, but can't come up with anything better than the unimpressive and unromantic "I didn't know."

Laurens looks crestfallen. "I'm sorry. I should go."

"I'm taking you back to camp. Don't argue with me, you're in no state for it and I'll win anyway." Hamilton kisses Laurens quickly. It's risky, given where they are, but after that confession it was all he could do not to press Laurens against his chest tightly and never let go. "More of this later, dear boy. Come, let's make our excuses and get you home."

“You don’t want your dance?” Laurens slurs, pouting a little.

Hamilton smiles at him. “Unless you’re offering, no.”


	17. Chapter 17

The ride back to camp has an almost hallucinatory quality. The white rump of Hamilton’s horse seems to bob around in the darkness like an untethered moon. He nearly falls off his horse at the other end, and Hamilton catches him, slinging an arm around his waist to support him.

“You are seven kinds of fool,” he murmurs fondly in Laurens’s ear.

“Your wig looks like it was molested by a drunken badger,” Laurens says, slurring his words badly. “M’mother raised no fools.”

“Time for sleep, oh hero of the revolution,” Hamilton says, pulling Laurens’s arm over his neck and steering them towards their tent. He stops along the way to order Weland to tend to their horses and Laurens watches his own breath make clouds in the cold air.

“Carrying you is like carrying a sack of potatoes wrapped in broadcloth, use your damn legs,” Hamilton grumbles, loudly enough for the private on watch to choke back a laugh in response.

Once inside the tent Hamilton drops his exasperated manner entirely and sits Laurens solicitously down on his own camp-bed, kneeling at his feet to remove his boots. Laurens winces as blisters he’d begun to ignore announce themselves again with a sharpness that cuts through his deepening stupor.

“Nearly done,” Hamilton says gently. “Poor lad, have you been riding all day? You should be sleeping.”

“Kiss me first,” Laurens bargains, catching the collar of Hamilton’s best uniform and rubbing the fine cloth between his fingers.

“John,” Hamilton says, a note of desperation in his voice as he kneels up to press their mouths together. His hands stroke up the pale cloth of Laurens’s breeches, black on white in the darkness of the tent, and the kiss stretches out like taffy, slow and a little delirious. They’re both panting when they break off.

“Enough of that,” Hamilton says, his voice low and full of desire. “I need you well-rested so I can welcome you back properly.”

“Love you,” Laurens says, and promptly falls asleep fully dressed on Hamilton’s bed.

=

Laurens wakes up slowly, a dim perception of light and other people breathing solidifying into alertness. He feels a sense of foreboding he can’t account for. He is home, as much of a home as he could ever hope to have in the middle of a war. Hamilton is snoring gently one cot over, a few harsh breaths before he turns and his breathing evens out once more.

Laurens is struck by a recollection of almost hallucinatory clarity: the rattle of breathing slowing till it comes to a gasping halt. It takes him a second to place it. He’d been in South Carolina, hiding from British snipers behind a shrub. He’d been checking over his pistols, a redcoat (-a young man, dark hair in disarray-) dying on the ground a few feet away. He’d barely noticed the man’s death rattle at the time, too intent on the shouts from the skirmish, listening for orders. It seems his mind had merely stored the horror away for a later season, a bitter vintage better left in the cask. So clear a sound - as if it came from the next cot over.

He gets up, his heart pounding unreasonably hard, and goes to lean over Hamilton’s cot, setting two fingers to check Hamilton’s pulse while he leans over to feel Hamilton’s breath on his cheek. He knows what he heard was not real, but cannot help himself with reason alone. Hamilton stirs at the contact, and smiles sleepily up at him.

“It’s not yet dawn,” Laurens says. He means that Hamilton can go back to sleep, but Hamilton takes a quick look round the tent – the others are still sleeping – and pulls on his breeches and boots.

“Let’s… go for a walk,” Hamilton says, and Laurens knows exactly what that means. He starts dressing too, with more haste than grace. His heart is still pounding but now the lingering panic only adds an edge to his arousal.

They get outside the camp, to a copse of trees, and Hamilton falls upon him with a ferocity Laurens had forgotten. He gets slammed against a tree and kissed soundly, and Hamilton has his breeches open while Laurens is still gasping:

“Alexander-“

“John, love, hush.” Hamilton kisses him again. “Be a good boy and turn round for me.”

Laurens bites his lip to stifle a moan as he does so, aroused beyond reason by Hamilton’s casual praise; a humiliating response he always seems to have when Hamilton tells him what to do. The tree bark is rough under his hands as he braces himself.

“Good boy,” Hamilton says, his words muffled against the back of John’s neck. “You’ll get what you need, my love, I promise. Just let me-”

“Yes,” Laurens whispers, heartfelt and desperate. “Take me. Please.”


	18. Chapter 18

They clean each other up before they head to camp. Laurens is having trouble taking his hands off Hamilton, keeps going back to adjust his coat. Hamilton eventually pulls him on for a last hug, smoothing his hair down.

“All well, John?” Laurens is hazy-eyed and smiling like he has the sun between his teeth.

“Yes.”

“I’m betting everything I have on you. Just… know that. I’m in this, I’m with you, for as long as we live.”

=

It takes a bare week after their reunion for them to land feet-first in a new fight.

Charles Lee is the worst kind of snide, back-biting patrician and shouldn’t, Laurens and Hamilton agree, be put in charge of anything more complex than an applecart. He presumably has friends in high places to get him promoted this high, though it’s difficult to imagine the man inspiring much loyalty. Certainly he didn’t attain his current rank by daring or skill in battle.

Laurens gets increasingly sardonic, Hamilton increasingly angry, with each new sign of incompetence. When Lee starts badmouthing Washington, it’s only the final straw on a full haystack.

“Someone ought to hold him to it,” he tells Hamilton, low-voiced around a campfire. The crackle of flames is enough to obscure the content of their words, and by now they both have plenty of practice in saying the most outrageous things straight-faced.

Hamilton grimaces.

“I can’t disobey Washington in this, no when he’s ordered me to let the man alone. Things are… more precarious than usual, and I’m going to need his support.” Without a well-connected wife, Hamilton will have to rely on patronage for his future career.

“Then I’ll do it. You’ll act as my second?”

“Who else?”

Laurens smiles at him. It’s not, strictly speaking, a nice smile, but Hamilton likes it anyway.

“I’ll shoot him somewhere nice and inconvenient. His ass, perhaps, so he stops talking out of it.”

“Makes a nice, big target too,” Hamilton agrees, sounding a little abstracted.

=

“Aaron Burr, sir.”

“Duels are such stupid, wasteful things, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong," Hamilton shrugs, concealing a sting of unease at the thought of Laurens injured. "But when Lee goes around running his mouth off about his commander, there are consequences.”

“You’d take a man’s life for disagreeing with your general?”

“Lee’s wasted many lives far more worthy for less purpose." 

“Then it seems the duel must go forward. Hope Laurens is a good shot.”

“Your man won’t apologise, then?”

Burr halts, looks at him thoughtfully.

“It might depend on the wording, but…” Burr shrugs. “He’s not anxious to face Laurens – strictly between us. Your man has something of a reputation for bloodthirsty deeds.”

“Between us, I expect we can manage the wording.”

“And Laurens will accept it? Well, I suppose you do rather have him under your thumb. I’m sure you’ll bring him round to whatever you think is right.” The stress he lays on the final ‘you’ is almost unnoticeable.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that, but-“ Hamilton starts angrily.

Burr flings up a hand.

“No, no, I retract my words. You really cannot challenge your opponent’s second during the negotiation, Hamilton,” he says chidingly, laughing a little. "You'll have to learn to hold your tongue now you're involved in these affairs."

Hamilton’s ears burn. Trust Burr to get in a snide jab about Hamilton's less than gentlemanly upbringing. There had been no honorable duels in St Croix.

“Wording,” he says, curtly.

 =

Charles Lee’s apology doesn’t save him from a military court martial, but the embarrassment of publicly admitting Washington the better general and himself “overly cautious, in hindsight” does seems to stop his mouth for a while. Laurens accepts with just enough good grace to keep the peace and not a particle more. It’s almost more insulting than open rudeness.


	19. Chapter 19

Laurens finds a twist of paper on his pillow when he comes back from General Gates’s camp, and unscrews it all unguarded to read a note from Hamilton.

_Dear John, gone to New York. Tried to find you. I'll write if I can get a message to you. Yours ever, A_

It takes Laurens’ breath away, a startling burst of anger and pain that throbs in his chest. This is not a message meant for an absence of a day or two – Hamilton’s been sent away, he thinks wildly, perhaps even dismissed. And this when Laurens has only just returned from the South, when they've only just patched up the rift between them. They should have had more time than this. New York is held in part by the British and in part by General Schuyler, and Laurens feels that old unreasonable jealousy as he wonders whether Eliza Schuyler is near her father.

It drives him all the way to Washington's tent, that anger, and he doesn't remember to be diplomatic when he strides into Washington’s office.

"Was it because of Lee?"

"Son-"

"I'm not your son. Sir," Laurens bites out, the pause just long enough to be insulting.

"No, you're not smart enough to be a son of mine,” Washington says, no real heat behind his words. “Think before you speak. What are you asking?"

"Why have you dismissed Colonel Hamilton?"

"I haven't. Are you done?"

Laurens opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

"You do not have the standing to be informed of troop movements in advance. You do not have the right to address me as crudely as you have done." Washington frowns at him, clearly expecting an apology.

There is a long pause. Laurens breathes harshly, anger still a knot in his throat. Wrong target, he tells it. Save yourself for the real enemy.

"I apologise. Sir."

"Hamilton is away on business you don't have any part in. Understand?"

Intelligence work, Laurens thinks, and the anger twists in his gut like a turned knife, sharp but with all momentum lost.

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." Washington turns to his papers, As Laurens turns to go the general coughs and speaks quietly, not looking up. "Don't mention Lee to me again, Colonel Laurens. I'm glad the pair of you managed to avoid open confrontation, I don't want to know anything more."

Laurens salutes, unseen by Washington’s bowed head, and leaves.

=

Some weeks pass before Hamilton rides up to camp in dusty civilian clothing several sizes too large for him. The sentries nearly turn him away till a passing Lieutenant Weland recognizes him and brings him in to the command tent.

“You’re all right?” Laurens asks, his hands itching to touch and see for himself. “Not hurt?” He risks a handshake as Tilghman and Hart come over to welcome Hamilton back and ask where he’s been.

“Seeing you has healed me of the only hurt of any importance,” Hamilton says quietly. “It’s good to see friends again,” he adds more loudly, turning to greet the others.

“Hamilton,” Washington says warmly. “Good to see you. Come in and make your report.”

“Yes, sir.” Hamilton salutes and follows.

Later, once he has changed into a clean uniform and they have the tent to themselves, he tells Laurens the story of his journey – sent on an urgent mission to Mulligan, on no notice and with very little idea of what he would find there.

“Washington told me to use my initiative, that he trusted me to decide as he would what to do with whatever I found.” Hamilton sounds a little awed by this high degree of trust. Laurens knows how much he relies on Washington’s patronage for his plans after the war, and doesn’t have to be told what a hopeful sign this is.

“Is Mulligan well?”

“He is now. It was dirty work, finding a turncoat among the turncoats, but we got the rat.” Hamilton grimaces. “Not a gentleman’s pursuit, spying.”

“If you do it, it’s a gentleman’s pursuit,” Laurens says staunchly. “I worried about you, dear boy.”

“Poor Laurens,” Hamilton says softly. “I missed you too.”

“Next time you have to leave, take me with you.” Laurens doesn’t quite know what he’s going to ask until the words are out.

“John-“

“I know that sometimes it will be impossible, I know, but I’d resign my commission to follow you rather than be parted every few months as we have been.”

“We planned-“

“And either of us could die on the battlefield or off it before those plans bear fruit. I don’t want to sacrifice today for tomorrow.” 

“What about your dream? The Black battalion?”

“I can follow it and you at the same time, if you’ll work towards it with me.”

“Take your dreams for mine, and mine for yours,” Hamilton says softly, as if testing the idea, rolling the words round his mouth. “You’ve such romantic ideas, John, how did you live so long with such fervor burning in you? You’re like the sun in a room of candles.”

“Will you?” The moment stretches out into an agony of waiting, but it’s only a breath until Hamilton says:

“Yes, stay, I will,” an odd little gasp in his voice, as if half his soul has been called out of him to lodge in John’s breast.


	20. Chapter 20

They win at the battle of Yorktown.

Laurens spends the week after the formal British surrender arranging prisoner exchanges, persuading soldiers not to go home just yet (‘It is still desertion, Private Hellstrom, and the penalty is still death’), and breaking up drunken brawls. He finds time in the evenings to write to the commanders in the South, where the British are still fighting, trying to get any of them to recruit slaves with the promise of freedom after the war.

They are all in a curious Limbo, at war and yet so close to peace. Laurens scarcely has time to consider all the changes his life will undergo without a war to give it structure.

Hamilton, of course, is a few steps ahead of him.

“Laurens, my dear, stay your writing for a moment and look at this?”

Laurens takes the proffered papers. It’s a lease agreement – a contract, not yet signed – for a small house in New York.

“What is this?”

“It’s not much, but I’ve lived near there before. Mulligan’s place isn’t far off, actually; but it’s also convenient for King’s College. I suppose we’ll have to rename the college now, though…” Hamilton is almost bouncing on his toes, his excitement barely suppressed.

“You’re leaving the army?”

“There’s enough room for two. Two bedrooms, even, and a servant’s quarters, though we had probably better forgo a live-in maid.”

“We had – Hamilton, I can’t live in New York with you.”

“Oh.” Hamilton sits down suddenly, all animation leaving him, like a puppet with its strings cut. “When you said we should stay together… I thought…” His voice is plaintive, so vulnerable, Laurens can’t help but reach out for him.

“I meant it. Alexander, I want to stay with you. But I have to stay in the army. The Black battalion-“

“You’ll never get it,” Hamilton says bluntly. “Not now the war is over. Without the British threat to push them into it, the South will never arm slaves, or emancipate them.” It’s so like Laurens’s own fears that he reacts in furious denial.

“So I’m supposed to just leave them in bondage and ruin both our reputations in some love nest in New York? Keep you from the government post you’ve been courting Washington for since 1776?”

“John, it wouldn’t be like that!” Hamilton says fiercely. “I would never keep you from pursuing abolition. I promise. I’m just… suggesting a different tactic.” 

“I’m listening,” Laurens says warily.

“We go into whatever government is formed – help form it, if we can – and we design and pass legislation. It’s the only way to get all the slave-owners and traders all at once. At least, assuming the United States stay united… but I already have some ideas. We’ll tax them for every slave imported, we’ll give enslaved children inheritance rights when their fathers are white men-“ 

“This ends nothing.” 

“It will make slave-owners poorer. The less profit they make, the less money they have to buy influence, and we’ll keep hitting them once they’re down. We’ll need all the friends we can get, and time, and luck-“

“A lot of luck, and the men and women enslaved have no time to waste.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, John, if you really believe that then go ahead. Stay in the army – I’ll stay with you. But if you do so because you want to be a hero, leading your battalion on a stallion, then you’re not the man I take you to be.”

“Hamilton-“

“Think it over,” Hamilton says, his voice dull and business-like, in heart-rending contrast to his earlier excitement. “I have a week or so before I have to return the contract, but they’ll be other houses if you haven’t decided by then.”

=

Dear Col Hamilton,

Please find the signed lease documents enclosed – if you could sign your part and return them, I should be grateful. I have given in my resignation to Greene. Together we shall beat our swords into lockpicks, and undo all chains.

Yours, JL.


	21. Epilogue

Laurens stays in New York.

The house on Claremont Street – called Mercer Street now – has a downstairs office and bachelor quarters upstairs, with room for two single men. They hire a woman to cook and clean three hours a day, one of Hamilton’s first clients from a tricky divorce case. She owes him legal fees far beyond her meager savings, and they pay her a generous wage. Hamilton doesn’t much care whether it’s gratitude or monetary debt that binds her as long as he has some leverage for silence.

Laurens comes home one day to find Hamilton pacing their living room. They both have days when the concealment they live under grates at their nerves, but they seem to trade off, so far – Laurens listening to Hamilton argue himself in circles, Hamilton breaking into Laurens’s black-dog sulks to make him drink or smoke, dull the edges of his mind so he can sleep.

“I’ve been invited to meet with Delancy about the constitutional convention. Will it – can I go?”

“Congratulations!” Laurens claps him on the shoulder. “Of course you must go, it’s everything you’ve wanted since before the war.” The chance to shape a nation, like children left in a clay pit, scrambling to build before the sun dries it all into immutable pottery.

“It’s a risk, a big one, my getting into the public eye like that. We were going to wait till we were more secure.”

“It will be a risk, but,” Laurens shrugs. “We have to live. We’re young and just starting out, I’m spending my inheritance on studying, our poverty excuses our living conditions and lack of female companionship.” They are not at present a remarkably uncommon prospect, a pair of poor young men finishing their studies in amicable cohabitation. Laurens is aware that as time passes a new modus vivendi may have to be achieved, but he has enough stubbornness for four men and by God he will find a way.

=

Mon cher, je reviens a deux heures et demi. Je t’aime seulment et toujours. J

 =

Am away to chambers till late, eat dinner without me. Ask Mrs Hadwell to save me a plate? AH

=

Spilt yr red ink, will buy more. J

 =

Alexander - Welcome home. Come upstairs. J

= 

Dear John,

Last night taught me once again that we still have so much to discover about each other. Had I thought wedded bliss meant anything to you, I would have asked you years ago. We have no legal standing, I know, but perhaps law isn’t everything, or the heart has its own laws. Did you mean it? 

Always, A

=

Dear Alexander,

You could never be satisfied with a simple yes, could you? Let me pen my answer more elaborately, while you are away and I have time to think. A thousand yeses, a yes for every second I have known you, a yes for every thought of you in my head.

Ton mari, JL


End file.
